


Overtime

by CeleryThesis



Series: Over Time and Tide [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-12 10:12:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9067264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeleryThesis/pseuds/CeleryThesis
Summary: Severus and Hermione have been married for eleven and a half years and have been together for twenty-eight. It is time to send their only child to school.This is a short story sequel to Over Time and Tide.





	1. September 1, 2027 Severus

**September 1, 2027**

**Severus**

 

He couldn’t remember being in quite so foul a mood in a decade as he made his way with his little party through the train station. _What is the point of having children_?

Hermione was dressed as if she was going to argue in front of the Wizengamot in the morning and High Court of Justice in the afternoon. Her boots had three inch heels that ended in tiny points, hardly suitable for walking. Her hair was straight and sleek and pulled into a twist at the back of her head. Last night in the garden, she had been in her frayed cut-off shorts and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt older than herself, her hair in full mane. They had eaten their dinner there one last time of the summer, one last time before doomsday. He hadn’t wanted to come inside.

Helen, who had been too excited to have a proper night’s sleep in a week, and who had packed her trunk the day her letter arrived, not even a month before, was dressed in school robes and looked five years older than she had twelve hours before. _What is the point of having children?_

They arrived at the traditional spot, and Helen threw a look of pure delight at both parents before she squared her shoulders and made it through on the first pass. Hermione followed with a laugh, Snape with a grumble.

It was a proper melee already. He hadn’t witnessed this scene since the start of his seventh year, and he couldn’t help but remember his own first September first. His mother had stopped accompanying him by fourth year, but she had been there for the first few. He had been just as excited as Helen, but he’d had good reason. What was she escaping, exactly? Two dupes at her beck and call and everything she could ever need or want. She put her hand in his just then, and he internally chided himself for always being such a sore head.

The only other eleven-year-old in their circle was Helen’s closest friend, Daisy Longbottom, who was older than Helen by four months. Daisy had lived on the Hogwarts grounds her entire life, yet here she was with her mother and siblings to board the train to take her back to Scotland. Ridiculous. This was Longbottom’s last chance to have a child sorted into his own house, as Daisy’s siblings were all Hufflepuffs.

Helen ran to greet Daisy as Lily Luna Potter sidled up to Snape. Hermione was already in a side-embrace with Lily’s father.

“Uncle,” Lily said in her best Draco Malfoy affectation.

“Lily.”

“Quite an auspicious group of first years,” she said sardonically.

“Indeed,” he tried to out-Slytherin her. The Sorting Hat had been disregarding legacy in the past few years with audacious results. Despite Lily being Snape’s shadow for years at family events, the whole clan was shocked when she was sorted into Slytherin. Ginny Potter always seemed one fire whiskey away from belting him over it. “Head Girl?”

“Naturally.”

“Brilliant. Give Professor Emerson my best.”

“Yes.”

“And Lily?”

His adorable ersatz niece craned her head toward him, and it was all he could do to avoid giving her a big kiss on the cheek.

“Helen is likely…not to be a Slytherin.”

“Pity.”

“Indeed. Keep your eye on her anyway?”

“Of course, Uncle.”

She skulked away with one eyebrow raised. Potter was looking over at them trying not to seem so blatantly amused, as his daughter desperately wanted to be taken seriously. She had tried to dye her bright red hair black with disappointing results the year before. She was now wearing it long and straight, parted severely at the side and covering one eye, film noir style. Despite her little rebellion, she was one of the better students of the horde and had been Prefect before being named Head Girl.

Older students were loading the trunks in the baggage hold of the train, and departure time was looming. Hermione had rejoined him and taken his hand. Hers was shaking just slightly, and he was glad he wasn’t the only one having difficulty with this. His impulse was to pick up Helen under his arm and make a run for it.

Helen came back to them as Prefects started ushering students up the steps to the waiting cars. She walked into his chest and embraced him across the breastbone with her arms wrapped tightly around his back.

Helen’s parentage wasn’t obvious at first glance. Her hair was lighter than his, but darker than her mother’s. It was curly, but less so then Hermione’s, as it fell in soft waves down her back and was easily straightened when she wanted it to be. She had his eyes, Hermione’s nose, and everything else was genetic luck of the draw. She had Hermione’s father’s crooked smile that was unmistakable from photographs. Nothing else was immediately recognizable.

He spoke so low that no one else could hear. “We can all leave right now.”

“Oh, Daddy.” she said calmly before kissing him on the beak and then embracing her mother.

“We will miss you, Sweet Girl,” Hermione said.

“I know. Write me, okay?”

“Every day,” they choked out. _What is the point of having children?_

They watched her climb the steps with Daisy. Snape was determined not to cry, but it was a struggle. They waved to the train like proper idiots, watching it twist away.

Hermione was having similar difficulty keeping her composure, so he put his arm around her shoulders and steered her back toward the line that would carry them home. She waved weakly at some of the gang; they would see them all later that night, so there was no need for a debrief. He knew Potter and probably Weasley as well was itching to slap him across the back and in an attempt at commiseration, and he wanted to vacate the premises before that horror.

They caught their Tube line with seconds to spare. It wasn’t so crowded mid-morning, so they could sit. This was Helen’s favourite mode of transportation and had been since she had been a few weeks old. She had been slightly colicky as an infant, and they had discovered that a ride on the Tube was just the thing. She would crane her neck to see everything she could, and the motion of the car settled her down like nothing else.

As soon as Hermione’s maternity leave had been over, Snape had taken Helen to work with him. Every weekday morning of Helen’s first year, he strapped her to his chest in a carrier that left his hands free for her nappy bag. He had transfigured a set up for her in his corner of the lab. He performed a bubble charm over the works to protect her from fumes, and she would play and sleep happily for hours. When she would fuss, he would feed her a bottle and take tea for himself. It was perfectly civilized until Babs urged him to ponder whether a potions lab in hospital was really an appropriate spot for a baby.

“We should tour the nursery, Severus. It is so lovely, you won’t even believe it.” She said it in a way that made it seem like a suggestion, but was in fact an order. He started having to turn over Helen to witches in the nursery, but it made him more efficient at the lab. He almost always finished before noon, so he could take her home for lunch and nap in her own cot in her own room.

She grew out of the carrier when she was about a year, but the pushchair was too much to juggle on the Tube. She had to sit up like a big girl. He found that as long as he made his expectations clear, she was willing to comply. It almost always worked. There was one time, though, when she was eighteen months, that she became fascinated with a little toy puppy another toddler was chewing on from his pushchair across the aisle. As soon as the boy had let it drop from his mouth, Helen had levitated it to herself. A scene ensued. After Snape had returned the toy and obliviated the entire compartment, he had taken Helen to a bench near their stop and sat her down and then crouched before her so his face was inches from her.

“We do NOT use magic in public, Helen,” he had said—not even his full Professor Snape voice—but her lip had quivered, and she had covered her little eyes in shame. “Now, there, it’s just something to remember, Helen,” he had said quickly and then sat beside her and scooped her into his arms and let her cry on his chest.

He had stayed with her in the nursery that day until she was playing happily again, and the rest of the day was awful for him. She didn’t do it again.

The older she grew, the more delightful she became to him. She gave up napping at three and a half, and he started brewing with her in the little home lab and teaching her basic charms and spells. They would go to the shops together and plan and prepare dinner every night for tired mummy, who had a Very Important Job.

Hermione became noticeably distant during those years. She blamed it on work, but she had been busy before without it causing a change in her demeanor. From the time Helen was eighteen months to about three, Hermione did not seem happy at home or with their life. He tried to include her more in running the house, he tried to give her space, he tried to take her away for a weekend holiday for just the two of them, but nothing seemed to help. They had always hashed everything out, every day, and she no longer wanted to talk to him about anything. She didn’t even bicker at him the way she used to. She would have sex with him when he initiated, and she would participate, but it seemed very…perfunctory.

It was hard for him to sleep without her pressed against him, and he would fall asleep that way, but when he woke, she would have moved to the far corner of the bed. She was distant with Helen, too, and he felt he was to blame for that. He and Helen had such a routine that when Hermione would try to help with her daughter—bathing or feeding or bedtime—Helen would resist and demand only him.

He was caught in the middle. Hermione started working longer hours, and not being home very much when Helen was awake. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Hermione was back to her old self, and Helen was more willing to let Mummy do. Snape had rarely felt such relief and lived on edge for years that the era would repeat itself, but it never did.

 

 

Hermione was quiet on the ride home, but she had her head on his shoulder, and he had his hand on her knee. They were both taking the day off, and it was unspoken but mutually understood that they would spend a good portion of the day in bed. It was a small but significant consolation. He rubbed her knee with one finger, slightly suggestively, and she nestled in closer.

They reached their stop and made the two-block walk to the house, hand in hand. They entered the house and walked to the kitchen out of habit. Snape was immediately confronted with Helen’s primary school awards affixed to the fridge.

 

He and Hermione had discussed what to do about her schooling the whole year before she turned five. Hermione did not feel wizarding primary was as intellectually rigorous as the closest Muggle primary, which had an excellent reputation. He wasn’t sold on either option and wasn’t sure why he couldn’t just educate her at home.

“Because you have a job, Severus. She’s too old for nursery, and you’ve already been told she can’t loiter around the lab all morning.”

“She wouldn’t be loitering…”

“I’m fairly certain St. Mungo’s isn’t going to approve a five-year-old apprentice. Besides, Ellis Court is a fantastic school, and we lucked into living in the right neighborhood. Helen enjoys Julian and Anna; she will know some classmates.” Most of the children in their neighborhood were older than Helen, but she did enjoy playing in the community garden with Julian and Anna, twins that lived a few doors down.

Helen had overheard her mother and stomped into the kitchen.

“I do NOT want to go to MUGGLE school!” she said in her little incensed voice, sounding exactly like Hermione in tone, if not in substance. “I am a WITCH!”

“Helen Elisabeth, we do not talk like that! My whole family is Muggle; half of your father’s family!”

_Not your strongest case._

Hermione was shaking with anger. “You father and I both attended Muggle primary, and many, many dear people to me are Muggles!”

Helen had burst into tears and flung herself at Snape. He looked over her head to Hermione with wide eyes, not wanting to be in the middle of this at all.

“I want to go to school with cousins!” she said in little raspy bursts through sobs. “I want to go where Lily and Phillipe and Freddie and Agnes go!”

Hermione had crumpled, realizing she had misunderstood her daughter. “Oh,” she had said quietly. “I’m sorry, Helen. I shouldn’t have become so upset.” Tears were welling in her eyes now, and Snape pulled her over to him, so he could have his arms around both his girls.

“Mummy is right about being careful about the way we speak of Muggles.”

“But I didn’t…”

“I know, Sweet Girl,” Hermione gently placed her hands on Helen’s back and encouraged her to look up from Snape’s chest.  She put a hand on each side of Helen’s face. “I’m so sorry for raising my voice and not listening to you.” Helen reached out for her mother, and Hermione took her into her arms. “You want to go to St. George’s?”

“Yes!”

“That’s what we will do, then.”

After Helen was asleep, the adults continued the discussion.

“There is a case to be made for Ellis Court,” he said, and she sighed wearily.

“Of course there is, but I don’t think it’s worth the battle. We can supplement her education. I know that most of the responsibility will land on you…”

“I’m happy to do it, you know that. Sounds like I am going to be boning up on Muggle maths.”

“Google is your friend,” she flopped on the bed. “We can both tackle the literature. Maybe a family book club.”

He laughed and joined her in their big, comfortable bed that was their haven again.

Helen had done remarkably well at St. George’s, and had been mostly willing in her extracurricular studies as well, although maths was a struggle for them both. She was probably overprepared to start Hogwarts.

 

Snape looked through the kitchen and into the lab and its big, imposing potions table. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at his wife.

“Oh Severus, really. We have a perfectly adequate bed,” she dismissed him.

_What is the point in having a big, imposing potions table?_

She took his hand and started leading him up the stairs. When she turned and caught him scowling, she reached around and pinched his arse. With a flick of her wand, she raised the bed about a foot.

“See you can bend me over the bed just as efficiently as the potions table, and it will easier on my hips.”

He must have had a look on his face because she softened immediately and pulled him close, kissing him on the mouth and closing her eyes. “Oh, Severus, we’ll get through this.”

He must look such a sad sack. He took control, and turned the sweet kiss into something else entirely. He nipped her bottom lip just a bit roughly and reached behind her to grab her arse. She was wearing a pencil skirt, and he raised it up her thigh, slowly. The high-heeled boots made her much closer to his height, and once the skirt was up, she wrapped her leg around his thigh and moaned.

She put one hand into his trousers and grabbed his cock, which was quickly becoming hard. She stroked him and looked him right in the eyes with a little smirk. He flipped her around quickly and bent her over the bed. Her skirt was pulled up to her hips, and she was wearing black cotton knickers, probably chosen just for this. He yanked them down, and freed himself from the placket buttons and then slammed into her with a loud groan.

“Fuck, Severus,” she moaned into the duvet.

He reached around to undo the buttons of her white blouse and then grabbed the lace cups of her bra, kneading her breasts forcefully.

“Fucking hell,” she gasped. He was pounding into her. “Touch me.”

He kept one hand on her tits and moved the other down, not rubbing her gently with feathery touches, which he knew would do the trick. Instead he held his hand still and steady at her apex, so when he fucked her, she received hard friction.

“FUCK!” she yelled, and he continued as he felt her come on his hand and cock. He slowed down long enough for her to regain her bearings, and then he licked his fingers and resumed his rhythm. He ran his other hand all over her, from her breasts to her thighs to the leather of her boots. His mouth was focused on her ear and neck, and he was in no hurry for this to end. He would slow down and then speed up again until she was right on the edge and then back off. Finally, she’d had enough, and she took charge, backing up into him and clenching herself around his cock. She found her way over again, and this time, she insisted her come with her by slamming herself back and gripping him tightly with her cunt.

“Fuck, Hermione,” he moaned, giving her name a few extra syllables. They both collapsed on the bed, with her comfortably underneath him, at least from his perspective. They lay there panting, until she tapped his thigh, and he let her up.

“That was interesting,” she said as she was shucking off her clothes. “It was the boots, right?”

“It was not _just_ the boots,” he protested, taking his clothes off as well.

“Okay,” she said. Climbing under the duvet and letting out as content a sigh as he had heard from her in a while. “Oh. to sleep a few hours,” she said into her pillow.

He followed her under the covers, scooped her over so she was curled up against him and tried to shut off his brain while her breathing grew steady and regular. Years of lying with her like this—her back tucked in against his chest, his arm cradling her middle—had trained him to sleep much better than he had in his previous life. He could match her breathing, and that usually did the trick. He would sometimes wake in the night, but he could almost always drift off again by re-syncing to her.

The train would still be winding its way to Scotland. Helen wasn’t terribly outgoing, and he would be surprised if she had ventured beyond Daisy and her pseudo-cousins yet. By the end of the term, she would have a whole group of new friends. They had made the trip to buy her first-year books in Diagon Alley as soon as her last school term ended. They had worked through them together all summer, and he knew she was prepared academically. He hoped she would be happy. He hoped it would be the best experience of her life so far. His mind started to grow fuzzy and his body weightless.

He woke up to click clacking from the other side of the bed. He no longer had that lovely warmth pressed against him. He cracked one eye and peered out from under the duvet. Hermione was sitting up in bed in knickers and a t-shirt, her glasses perched on the end of her nose, squinting into her laptop and typing madly. Her hair was still back in its fancy style, but one corkscrew curl had liberated itself down the side of her face, and she kept stabbing at it uselessly, trying to keep it behind her ear.

“You’re working.”

“Yes.” She said it without a trace of apology. He sniffed. “You could make us some tea, then,” she said, still typing away.

_What is the point in having the same day off?_

He grumbled under his breath as he pulled on his pants, which had been lying in a small heap on the floor looking less than dignified. He found a clean, white undershirt and headed for the stairs.

“You could throw together some sandwiches, too. Dinner won’t be for hours and hours.”

“Yes, missus,” he said in his best Kreature voice, and she hooted in laughter. He hid his smile as he descended the stairs. His belly was rumbling and he had smoked a gorgeous pork loin two nights ago. It _would_ make fantastic sandwiches. He lit the kettle with his wand and found his favorite knife. It was a bit sad to fetch two plates instead of three, but life went on. He assembled the sandwiches while the tea was brewing and then stacked it all on a tray to bring up to mistress.

Said matriarch had expanded her work space to cover the whole bed, including his corner, which was now filled with parchment and binders.

“Oy!” he said with no lack of indignity.

“Surely there is football on, Darling. Thank you for this, it looks delicious,” she retrieved her mug and plate.

“Surely there is,” he retorted. “No team I care about, to be certain.”

“Just watch for the love of the game, yeah?” She was not really listening anyway.

He took his plate and mug and harrumphed downstairs to click on the telly. Liverpool was playing Leeds, so there was that. He settled in on the sofa. Neither of his girls could ever find an interest in the game although Helen did try. About five minutes in, her eyes would inevitably glaze over, and she would start looking longingly at her book, which of course he would encourage her to pick up.

Quidditch was another matter entirely. He started taking her to the Hogwarts matches as soon as she could walk well enough to easily tread from castle to pitch. They would deck themselves in head to toe Slytherin, and he would instruct her in the finer points of the game as they watched the action. Hermione would join them for the annual Slytherin/Gryffindor match, and would discretely place a red and gold bow in Helen’s hair or perhaps pin a small red rosette to her coat, only to wind him up, mind you. She couldn’t be bothered to follow the game in any real way.

That was fine, though. He and Helen were interested, and within the game there were so many opportunities for other life lessons as well.

“Do you see how the Slytherin chasers are able to throw off Hufflepuff every time? They are using subterfuge tactics—showing their cunning. Cunning is an underrated virtue, Sweet Girl.”

They would have lunch in the Great Hall at the head table, and then Helen would play with Daisy on the grounds while Severus caught up with Filius and Minerva, and Poppy if there were no quidditch catastrophes that day.

Everything was all well and lovely until Hugh Ballister became seeker for Ravenclaw in his fifth year when Helen was eight. She fell immediately, irrevocably in love.

“How did he know that the Snitch would appear right there, Daddy?” she said with awe.

“Savvy, I suppose.”

“Is savvy an underrated virtue?”

“I’m not sure _underrated_ is the right word. Some people wear their intelligence on the sleeve, and I wouldn’t say…”

“ _You_ don’t wear your intelligence on your sleeve? _Mummy_ doesn’t…”

“Yes, Helen, thank you, I see your point.”

It was Ravenclaw from then on. She still attended with him, every Saturday there was a match, but he was steady in green and she in blue.

 

He finished his lunch and returned the dishes to the kitchen to wash up. The match was uninspiring, and nothing else on the telly looked promising. He should probably get dressed and work in the garden, but this was supposed to be an idle day off. His mouth was quite turned down as he contemplated his options until her voice calling from upstairs rescued him.

“Severus, I’m getting in the shower.”

 _Getting in the shower_ had two specific, clear meanings when declared by her. One, he was invited to join, and two, he would be receiving oral sex. Pity fellatio, it may be; it would not spoil his enjoyment of it. Indeed, it did not.

Afterward, he carried her back to their bed, now clear of her work detritus and reciprocated in kind. Her hair was down now and splayed across the white pillow case. She tasted of herself but also of himself and the soap they favored and both used. She brought him up after her orgasm, kissed him, and settled him in against her again.

“The floo will activate soon. We should dress.” She said in almost a purr.

He kissed her languidly, letting his hands roam all over her naked body.

“Severus.”

“Yes, yes.” He dropped his head down to take one nipple into his mouth and sucked it before letting it go with a smacking sound. She moaned very quietly and then flung herself out of bed to dress.

They descended the stairs to stand guard by the kitchen floo. Her hair was down now and adorably wild. There was some grey in there now, but it worked as just another colour in the mix. He hoped others at the pub would notice the change from her controlled chignon that morning to her wild mane. _What do you think we’ve been doing all afternoon? Hmmmm? Still crazy after all these years._

She had bought a bottle of champagne for the occasion, and she retrieved two glasses while he found a bottle Southern Comfort and a tumbler: for him if Longbottom appeared in the floo; for her if Dalia Emerson did. He would find an extra glass if it was Merriwether.

“I am perfectly fine with any of the possibilities,” she said a bit too defensively when she saw the whiskey and the one glass in his hands.

“Yes, Darling, absolutely,” he said with a smile.

There was static around the fireplace just as they were seated at the table with their beverage options.

“Here we go,” Hermione said and grabbed his hand.

It was blurry for a moment and then clear.

“Severus, Hermione, can you hear me?”

Filius. Helen must be overjoyed. Hermione immediately popped the cork off the champagne bottle.

“Yes, Professor, you look marvelous.” Tears already from Hermione. She poured the glasses and held one up to the floo. “Wit beyond measure!” Severus tried very hard to roll his eyes discretely, but she saw. “Severus,” she said warningly.

“Yes, yes, wit and all that,” he held his glass up for a second before downing it placing it back on the table. “How is she, Filius?”

“She seems marvelous. Her sorting was very quick, and she looked thrilled with the result.”

“Take care of our girl, Filius,” he said trying to keep his emotions in check. He could almost feel Helen’s joy from across the land.

“You know I will, Severus.”

“We won’t keep you—thank you so much for letting us know!” Hermione called out.

“Of course. Have a good evening.”

The fireplace went fuzzy again then blank. Hermione threw her arms around him. “She must be so happy.”

“It could be so much worse,” he replied and received a swat on the arm. “Drink up, woman.”

“I was going to transfigure our scarves, but we can just raid her room.”

The past few Christmases and birthdays, Ravenclaw gear had been on the top of her wish lists. She had left it all in hopes of not jinxing herself, but he supposed he would be shipping it to Hogwarts in the morning. They climbed back up the stairs and into her room—he wasn’t sure he was ready to see it without her—and found some scarves to put over their robes.

Last Christmas, Luna had given her a hat with a charmed stuffed eagle that came quite alive. It was balanced at the top of one of the bed posts. Severus donned it and turned to Hermione, who collapsed in giggles and then put her hand over her mouth.

“At least Neville won’t be there,” she said and had to grab the bed post to steady herself.

He took off the hat immediately and replaced it. That incident had happened thirty years ago, and he still was angry at the werewolf. _May he rest in peace_ , his better angel added hastily to his inner rant.

Clad in their blue scarves, they set out for the pub. It was too far to walk the whole way, but it was a lovely evening. They walked as far as the school. There was a concealed alcove in the yard that was perfect for apparating discreetly. They arrived on the wizarding street near the Ministry and walked up the block to the pub.

“Stay behind me,” Hermione instructed him.

“Oh, do we have to go in for cheap theatrics?” he grumbled.

“Yes,” she said, and he dutifully followed her lead. She opened the door a crack, and stuck just her head in. There were shouts of greetings, and she paused for just a moment before throwing the door open and revealing them in their blue and bronze.

An amused roar rang out, and they were surrounded before they could fully enter. This party was an annual gathering for Hogwarts parents on September first. They had never had reason to attend before, but he had heard about it enough over the years to know what to expect.

Potter was on him almost immediately in his Slytherin scarf. That itself was worth the annoyance of this event. The boy…man had his arm slung about Snape’s shoulder.

“A good outcome, yes?”

“Potter, allow me to get a pint before you accost me.”

“Yes, Snape, let’s get you fixed up,” Potter steered him toward the bar, as if he needed help, but then paid for two pints and slammed his against Snape’s. “To daughters.”

“Daughters,” he responded. “Yours does your family proud.”

“Yes, Snape, she does.”

Hannah caught Snape’s eye just then. She was beaming at him, and only then did he notice that she, too, was wearing Ravenclaw.

“Excuse me, Potter,” he said, and walked over to Mrs. Longbottom. “This is certainly good news,” he wanted to embrace her, but it was so painfully awkward, and he never knew how to properly behave. She helped him tremendously by pulling him in to a side hug.

“The girls must be so thrilled. They will get to share a room and not be with strangers the first night.”

“Yes, it will be so different for her.”

Hannah patted his arm affectionately.  Hermione spotted them and rushed over, throwing her arms around Hannah. “I was so hoping…”

“Us, too. Neville so much that he had given up pining. It was fairly obvious where Helen was headed, after all.”

“I wouldn’t have been so shocked if they had been sorted into Longbottom’s,” he said with as much good spirit as he could muster.

“It’s better this way for him, anyway. He can conduct house business with more detachment,” she laughed. “We’ve discussed it a bit.”

He spent the rest of the evening being glad-handed by each one of them. He wasn’t sure if they were happy for his family or enjoying winding him up over having his beloved daughter in a house not Slytherin. He realized he didn’t really care. He finally took a seat at a table next to Hermione. They had fresh pints, finally dinner. and a lack of audience.

“To Helen,” she said and put up her glass.

“To Helen,” he agreed. He tucked in to his dinner, eager to go home and sit at the big kitchen table with parchment and quill.

 

1 September, 2027

Dear Helen,

What a momentous day for our family. Mum and I were so proud to hear of your sorting. We couldn’t ask for a better leader and mentor for you than Professor Flitwick. Please do not hesitate to seek him out when questions or concerns arise. Ravenclaw House is the ideal place for you, and we hope that you are as thrilled with your placement as we are.

We were also very happy to learn that Daisy is also Ravenclaw. How lovely for you to have your closest friend with you as you begin your years at Hogwarts. You will no doubt expand your friendships along the way, both in your house and in the others, but to have a true friend by your side is quite a boon.

I was not so fortunate, and my first weeks at school were very difficult thus. Be aware of your classmates who could use a friend. Your associates will change as you move through your schooling, but you could make the difference between a difficult adjustment to school for a classmate and an easier one.

You are more than prepared for the academic challenges coming your way. Your old dad will miss our adventures in mathematics and potions, but you can do it all yourself, and have had the ability for years, really. I feel we spent too much time in potions instruction and not enough exploring the art of it, though. Professor Merriweather is highly capable by all accounts, and you should have no problem in the dungeon. (You know I first learned of your existence in that dungeon, yes? Of course you do, but indulge an old man. It was quite a momentous day.)

Don’t bind yourself to the written instructions or even the professor’s instructions. So much of potions relies on the senses. If something doesn’t look right, doesn’t smell right, trust your instincts. Those books are your property. Make notes in them. Change the directions. Improve the procedures You won’t always succeed, but you will emerge from your study with a much deeper understanding.

Enough lecture for today.

It is very quiet in this house without you, Sweet Girl, and Mum and I already miss you terribly. We are counting the days until the first match of the season. We will watch you from afar for the most part; we don’t want to tag you as that kid with the hovering parents. Know that we are always here if you ever find yourself in need of anything. You are our joy, Helen Elisabeth Snape. Mum will write tomorrow.

All my love,

 

Daddy


	2. 2032 Hermione

**2032**

**Hermione**

**April**

 

She was at her desk pounding out an argument into her computer when her mobile dinged to announce a text. She smiled. Helen was home for Easter holiday, and she tended to update her mother throughout the day when she was on break. Hermione planned to finish the blasted document—she had to file a brief before she left today—and then spend a long weekend at home with the family. She finished her sentence and glanced at her phone.

 **Helen** :  There’s something wrong with Daddy!

She grabbed the phone and punched in the call option with shaking hands.

“Mummy?” Helen was crying and sounded terrified.

“What is happening?” she tried to keep the panic out of her voice. “What’s wrong, Sweet…”

“Daddy collapsed; he’s on the floor. He’s not moving!”

“Helen, listen to me. Is he breathing?”

“I DON’T KNOW!”

“Check him,” Hermione was shouting and Ksenia was at her door. “Something is wrong with Severus; he collapsed,” she managed to say.

“Go!” Ksenia said and ran to the floo, taking the powder from the little container on the mantel. “Go, Hermione.”

She jumped through to her kitchen and tripped on the way out. Helen and Severus were in the potions lab just through the door.

“Mummy, he _is_ breathing,” Helen said into the phone as Hermione entered the room.

She could only see the bottom of Severus’s boots when she strode into the room. She fell to her knees and crawled to his head. He was pale and completely still, but his chest was moving slowly up and down. She grabbed his head.

“Severus, wake up! Wake up!” She moved his head rather forcefully with no result. His glasses were crooked on his face, and his grey hair had flopped over covering most of his eyes. “Stay with him, talk to him loudly, I’m going to floo St. Mungo’s.” She practically shouted to her daughter. She scrambled up as Helen fell to take her place.

“Daddy!” she heard her daughter cry as Hermione ran back to the floo.

She threw in the powder and chanted the incantation for the hospital. It was Severus’s workplace, so she connected to the lab first.

“I need emergency,” she shouted at the poor witch on the other side. She was connected without question.

“Emergency.”

“I need help at my home. My husband has collapsed. We live in Muggle…”

“Yes. I’m sending someone now, Madam Snape.”

She backed up out of the way. Helen was still calling _Daddy_ plaintively from the lab. In no time the floo was buzzing and two medi-wizards had entered the kitchen.

“He’s in here,” she said, trying to calm herself as much as possible.

The two wizards knelt by him and started examining him. Hermione grabbed Helen by the arm and pulled her close, wrapping her arms around her daughter.

“He’s breathing, but we’re going to have to transfer him,” one of the wizards said.

“Is he stable enough?” She could hear the terror in her own voice.

“I hope so. We don’t have a choice.”

They levitated him and started moving him toward the floo.

“How are you going to…” she felt a rise in panic.

“We do this every day, Ma’am,’ the other wizard said.

“You can follow us; we’ll be in emergency.”

They doused themselves and Severus with powder and with one mighty leap, flooed all three away.

She was preparing to follow when she realized Helen wasn’t yet dressed for the day. It was almost two in the afternoon, and Helen was barefoot, wearing boxers, an oversized black t-shirt with The Cure’s garish faces staring vacantly, no bra, and her curls twisted on the top of her head.

“Get dressed, Helen,” she whispered, holding on to the brick fireplace for support. They had added it as soon as they had moved in, and the kitchen had always been their gathering place. She could picture her husband and daughter in the potions lab, Severus hunched over a cauldron and Helen perched on the edge of the table, bracing her bent legs against the wall. They spent hours in there during school breaks. Helen would sit for her O.W.L.s in a few weeks, and Severus was going over all the fifth-year potions with her to review.

Helen reemerged having replaced the boxers with black denims and having put on a bra under her shirt. She had a black robe over her shoulders, and she was now wearing black lace-up leather boots that had been Hermione’s at university. She looked terrified.

Hermione put her arm around Helen’s shoulder. She wanted to whisper some reassuring words, but they wouldn’t come. She covered them in power and they entered the floo with purpose, landing in the lobby of St. Mungo’s emergency department.

“Madam Snape?” a medi-witch called from across the room.

Hermione and Helen walked toward the women.

“The diagnostic healers are working right now. I’m going to take you to a place where you can wait. Can I call someone for you?”

Hermione looked at Helen. She could have the witch call enough people to fill the whole room. She silently ascertained whether Helen would find that comforting.

“Perhaps when we know a bit more,” Hermione said. The witch took them to a small room with a sofa, small table with four chairs, and a plant. Hermione wondered why they weren’t in the communal waiting space. Was it because he was an employee? Was is because his condition was dire? She shuddered. Helen took her hand and led her to the couch.

“Did he seem…well today?” Hermione asked.

“He seemed fine until he collapsed.”

“What were you brewing?” she couldn’t believe she was just now thinking of this.

“Blood replenisher.”

Nothing toxic about that.

“Do you think he’s going to be okay?” Helen asked, clearly looking for reassurance.

“I hope so. I wish I knew more, Sweet Girl.” She pulled Helen to her and wrapped her arm around her. Helen leaned against her mother’s chest and put her feet up, curled beside her on the sofa.

“He’s not that old,” Helen said.

“He’s not.” Seventy-two wasn’t even that old for Muggles these days, and for wizards it was middle-age.

“I think he will be fine,” Helen said.

“He survived his war injuries and completely recovered,” Hermione said.

“And that was before he had us, and he still survived.” Helen seemed to have convinced herself.

Hermione sighed into Helen’s curls, enjoying the closeness despite the circumstances.

It had never been as easy…as natural between them as it had between Severus and Helen. Hermione had flogged herself mentally and emotionally for years when Helen was small for failing to measure up to Severus. She would go over the events of Helen’s infancy, trying to determine where she first erred. It was so many small things and a vast stretch of months.

Everything was fine while she was home on maternity leave. She had planned to take twelve weeks, but there was a crisis at work after nine, and she started going in part time. They were arguing yet another appeal of the marriage laws and were finally making some progress. She went back full time as planned three weeks later; Severus still had a month left. She was breastfeeding and pumping, and at first, everything was fine. She could transfer the milk to Severus via floo.

Then Helen started refusing the breast, only wanting to drink the expressed milk from a bottle. That made Hermione sadder than she ever would have predicted; she missed that quiet time alone with her daughter. She still had to wake up at least once during the night to pump, so it wasn’t easier on her. Then Helen started screaming when Hermione would feed her the bottle, only accepting it from Severus. This was the first in a series of rejections. The only time Hermione could hold her baby peacefully was when Helen slept. She took to holding her throughout naps on the weekends and staying up way too late at night, so she could hold her sleeping child.

When they would go as a family to the Burrow or to Grimmauld Place, the group would be so taken with Severus’s skill as caregiver, no one seemed to notice that Helen hated her mother. Severus would rock her to sleep, and then place her in Hermione’s arms. He never acted resentful of all the responsibility that fell to him, and she thought it would have been easier if he had. Then they could have fought it out, hashed it out, like they did everything else. Instead it became this secret shame that neither wanted to talk about or reveal.

 

She realized Helen was letting her pet her hair gently. Hermione pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head. “Seems as if the Potions O.W.L. will be a breeze.”

“I hope so. Daddy and I are only about a third of the way through.”

“How is the actual course?”

“You know…Professor Merriweather…”

“He’s no Snape.”

“No. Daddy told me to give him a wide-berth. You know, to brew the way it felt right to me, but never to offer an unsolicited opinion.”

“That can be a challenge. It was for me.”

“It wouldn’t be, except Professor is always looking over my shoulder—it almost seems like he’s trying to catch me doing something not exactly…following the directions so he can grill me over it.”

“It’s hard to be potions master after Severus Snape, he’s probably intimidated, and you are a reminder. You just keep up as Daddy told you and go out of your way to be respectful, and you should be fine. How does he grade your written work?”

“I don’t know; he just writes the grade without comments. I haven’t scored below an E.”

“That’s so frustrating—not the grades, obviously—how do you know how to improve without comments?”

“It’s the worst. Between him and Professor Binns…”

“Ugh, Binns. Educational malpractice!”

Helen laughed a little bit. “Everyone else is great, though. If I can just get through these tests. I can’t wait for summer break. I just hope…”

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival at the door of Barbara Cooney-Gould. Hermione’s first thought was this could not mean good news.

“How is he?” Hermione and Helen had jumped to their feet and both accosted the therapist with the same question.

“Hello, ladies. He is resting with dreamless sleep. He was about to regain consciousness, and he needed sedation for the diagnostic charms. He will be awake shortly; I’ll take you to his room so you will be there when he wakes.

Hermione was hesitant to ask further questions until she could do outside Helen’s presence. She felt strongly that if it were good news, Babs would be more forthcoming.

 Severus was in a private room and looked himself although he was deeper in sleep than Hermione almost ever saw him. She leaned over his bedside and brushed his hair away from his forehead so she could kiss him there.

“Helen, would you pull up that chair next to him and hold his hand in case he wakes while I talk to Babs…Barbara.”

The therapist smiled at Hermione’s slip, but her eyes betrayed devastation. Hermione felt her knees almost buckle.

“I want to know, too!”

“Of course, Sweet Girl, and I’ll tell you directly, but I’d rather talk to Healer Cooney-Gould outside the room, and I don’t want him alone. Please.”

Helen didn’t respond verbally, but she pulled up the chair as close as possible and took Severus’s hand before she even sat.

Hermione and Babs quickly exited the room, and Hermione put her hands flat on the wall for support.

“Should we sit?” Babs said quietly.

“No, I want to be able to see them through the window.”

“Okay.” Babs took a deep breath, “It’s extensive nerve damage. It’s not something that we can cure.”

“Nerve damage? He hasn’t had an accident! He hasn’t even been sick since I’ve known him!”

“It’s something we used to see in prisoners who had been in Azkaban for years, before the reforms, of course. In Severus, the diagnostic healer thinks it’s a latent reaction from prolonged and repeated crutiatus curses.”

“He hasn’t been cursed in…thirty years! Over…”

“They’ve never treated someone who lived despite being cursed as extensively as he was. It was a true miracle that he survived the snake venom, and even then, the healers documented all the damage to his nervous system, but he recovered and seemed fine. I stopped worrying about it years ago.”

“And now?”

“He won’t survive this,” she said, her voice breaking.

Hermione flipped around so her back was to the window and screamed completely silently with her hand over her mouth. She tried to regain her composure before Helen glanced their way. Babs took her hand. Tears were streaming down the therapist’s face.

“Hours? Days?” Hermione whispered. _Years?_

 _“_ Months. Four months is their closest estimate.”

“Can he come home?”

“Yes. They are drawing up a treatment plan to keep him from as much pain as possible and to control the seizures. That’s what happened earlier.”

“Helen didn’t mention…”

“It was severe enough that it immediately knocked him out. You’re likely to witness weaker ones, and we will instruct you how to manage them. I will come to your house every day unless he wards me away,” she said as a tiny smile broke through her tears.  “What is your work schedule like?”

“I’m retired.”

“Since when? Severus never mentioned…”

“Since right now.”

 

**June**

They were reclining in wooden lounge chairs under a huge straw umbrella on the same beach in Greece where they had stayed just before Helen was born. They both had books although Hermione suspected that Severus had dozed off behind his dark sunglasses. His hand was resting on her thigh, and it hadn’t moved in a while. She placed her hand over his and caressed his fingers.

She had given him this trip on his seventy-second birthday that January. They had started a tradition of taking a trip just the two of them before Helen finished her last term and returned home for the summer. Hermione had been afraid they would have to cancel, but he had insisted.

There were days one could almost forget the diagnosis. While he hadn’t completely regained is strength, on his best days he had no trouble working in the home lab or the garden. The next day might be more difficult, but he would emerge from bed and sit with her at the kitchen table where they would complete the puzzle and eat breakfast together.

Helen had tried to refuse going back to school after Easter, but he had convinced her. He wanted her to ace her O.W.L.s. He told her she would help him beyond measure by doing this for him. Of course, the girl complied.

He’d had a few seizures since the diagnosis, but nothing like the initial one. She treated him at home, and had brought the apothecary he needed with them to Greece although their luck had held so far.

She was wearing a black caftan over sensible black one-piece bathing costume. Her massive straw hat practically covered her face. It was a far cry from their last trip here when she pranced around in bikinis with her enormous belly hanging out, Severus ogling her conspicuously. Severus still ogled her although the view was far less alluring. He still behaved as if she was the most glorious creature. She squeezed his hand, and he shifted slightly in his chair.

She would give anything to go back and live their life again from that trip on. The difficult years, the exhilarating years, the slow years, she would live them again and again if she had the chance.

The time she would most like to rectify was that period of Helen’s late infancy and early toddler-hood. It was already strained between them because of Helen’s refusal to let Hermione do anything for her. Hermione had responded by working harder than ever and convincing herself that she wasn’t a natural mother anyway, and she was lucky to have such a nurturing husband.

It was during this time that Teddy Lupin started at the law school. He had taken a year after Hogwarts to travel and to decide what he wanted to do with his life, so when he began his studies at Malfoy Granger, he was more focused and mature than his peers. Hermione had always loved Teddy; he was gifted with the best of both his parents, and she became a mentor for him. He completed the program very quickly, and went to work with Ksenia and Hermione at CUR2WO. The Wizengamot had made a compromise ruling in the marriage law, allowing same sex couples certain rights but not the full protection that married couples enjoyed.

They were threading a tiny needle, not wanting to accept second-class status while also not jeopardizing the real improvement to the lives of the couples that had been their clients for years. Their strategy sessions lasted late into the evenings. Ksenia had given birth to their second child a few months before and had insisted on leaving at a proper time, so it was just Hermione and Teddy in the office most nights.

After finishing a particularly well-crafted brief, she had poured them both drinks. She turned to hand Teddy his and found him staring at her longingly, looking as if he were about to kiss her. She downed her drink and headed home immediately, horrified. She had known Teddy since he was in nappies. He was eighteen years younger than she was. How could he possibly…

She had been standing in the shower with these thoughts assaulting her when her spine turned ice cold despite the hot water hitting her. Eighteen years younger. He was twenty-one. She had been _nineteen_. She had sat down in the shower then, afraid she might fall. She had been _nineteen_ when she looked at Severus the way Teddy had looked at her.

_But he didn’t know you as a baby. He wasn’t friends with your parents._

_But he DID know you when you were eleven. He was your teacher._

_He DID NOT look at you that way when you were eleven._

_No, just when you were nineteen._

It had thrown her into a crisis she couldn't talk about or share. Her rational self thought the whole thing ridiculous. She had not been a child when she fell in love with Severus. She had initiated the relationship every bit as much as he had, he had put the brakes on, in fact. They had been as happy as she had ever dreamed she could be—until it turned out she was completely unfit for parenthood—but even now he loved her and treated her like his most beloved.

Her irrational self ran amuck. She had to brace herself when he touched her at the worst of it, although she did everything she could to hide it from him. She became obsessed with how the world viewed them. She remembered the reactions of her friends when they found out about her relationship. They had been horrified, right? It was hard to remember, and she assumed they had tried to hide the extent of their disapproval.

Teddy never repeated the behaviour, and it had happened just weeks before he met the lovely young witch he eventually married. Hermione woke up one morning completely over the angst that had consumed her. She excoriated herself and then spent the next two years trying to make it up to Severus.

 

He was clearly stirring in his chair, waking up. He squeezed her hand and then started running his fingers lazily up and down her leg, easing the bottom part of the caftan above her knee.

“Your father would have punched me in the nose,” he said with a chuckle.

“What?”

“If we had met. I know we have this fantasy that your parents would have just been thrillllllled by your choice of life partner, but I think I know enough about the old man to safely say he would have taken me out with one punch.”

Had he read her thoughts just now? Had the legilimency returned? That was horrifying. “Why on earth are you thinking of this?” she said with a light laugh to cover her guilt.

“If Helen is nineteen and she brings home some lecherous forty-year-old, I will not be around to take the arsehole out. I must discuss this with Potter and Weasley. They have daughters.”

“If our daughter brings someone home as lovely as you…” Apparently, there were no end of tears.

“Darling, don’t,” he said quietly.

“Then don’t disparage yourself.”

“I was mostly joking.”

She reached in her bag for tissue that had become her ever present accessory. She wiped her eyes aggressively—this was not the way she wanted to spend the afternoon.

“Hermione,” he said in that special, quiet, low voice that could melt her even on her worst days. He sat up and pulled her up, too. He ran his thumbs gently under her eyes, and then went in to kiss her and bumped his forehead on her the brim of her hat. He whisked it off her head and kissed her passionately. Then they were putting books and towels in the large tote and heading back to their room, hand in hand.

She took off the caftan, and then he took over, easing the straps of her swimming costume down her shoulders softly. The cups of the built-in bra released her breasts, and he took them in his hands. She stood on her toes and wrapped her arms around his shoulders kissing him as he caressed her breasts. She felt his erection on her belly, so she pulled his trunks down gingerly and watched his cock pop out. She used her tongue lasciviously in his mouth, and then took her suit the rest of the way down and walked with him to the bed, still kissing.

They lay side-by-side, facing each other. She wrapped one leg around his hip and pressed closer to him so she could feel his hard cock against her. She moaned. “I love that,” she whispered and he chuckled and reached down to swirl his fingers in and around her cunt and then up to her clitoris.

He eased her on her back, and she opened her legs to accommodate his narrow hips. Her body was saggy and poochy and very much that of a fifty-three-year-old woman. He was still slender with well-defined muscles in his arms, abdomen, and legs. In short, he was gorgeous and way out of her league. He never seemed to notice this.

Before he escalated things further, he released her hair from the clip that was somehow holding the whole mess back. He brushed it with his fingers so it fell on either side of her shoulders. They lay suspended there for moments. He was caressing her hair, and alternating kissing her mouth and just smiling at her.

She smiled back and then raised her knees so they were beside his hips. She bumped his arse with one heel, and he received the message. He filled her to the top in one motion.

“Oh, Severus,” she exhaled. “You feel sooooooooo…”

He silenced her with his mouth, kissing her in time with his thrusts. He was bracing himself on one side with a hand on the bed, and he reached for her hand with the other, clasping it and intertwining his fingers. They stayed like that for minutes, languid but deep thrusts and kisses. Her only rational thought was that she could do this for hours. Days.

But she could sense him reaching his peak. She would not come herself without more direct friction, and just as she was realizing that she really didn’t care, he slipped out of her and down the bed and took her in his mouth, his tongue wide and steady on her clitoris, two fingers inside her, searching for that specific place. She was closer than she had thought.

“Right, now, fuck me,” she said, and in less than a moment, he was back up and inside her, and she was coming and gripping his cock as tightly as she could.

“AAAhhhhhhhhh,” he vocalized, and she thought at first he might be in pain, but his expression was unmistakable. She sighed in relief and held him as close to her as she could while he spilled himself deep inside.

“Merlin,” he whispered, and started kissing her ear and neck.

She flipped them over and started tending to him, starting at his neck on his preferred non-scarred side, down his chest, taking each nipple in her mouth in turn and sucking. Letting her tongue roam in and around his navel, licking her way down his little trail, and then taking his flaccid cock in her mouth, licking and sucking and cleaning it.

“Come here, Darling,” he said, and she rose back up and settled in under his arm, her space. He pulled a blanket over them, and she wanted to ask him several questions at once, _Are you cold? Are you hurting? Do you need a potion? Is there something I can do?_

He HATED this. He was not a great patient when he really did need her, and he could not abide her fussing when he didn’t. She mentally clamped her mouth shut. She wrapped herself around him tighter in case he was cold and then drifted off to sleep.

“Hermione,” she heard him sometime later. “Darling.”

“Yep?” she replied groggily.

“I have a plan.”

“Oh yeah?” She rubbed her eyes and started to sit up. It was still light outside, very late afternoon or very early June evening. Her stomach rumbled; the last time they had eaten was breakfast. “Does it involve dinner, because I’m in if it does.”

“I promise we will eat afterward.”

“Okay, what type of attire does this plan involve?” They were still both very naked.

“More than this.”

She rinsed off in the shower quickly and then pulled on a sundress and tried to tame her hair. The evenings could be breezy, so she put a lace shawl around her shoulders. He emerged from the shower and dressed in trousers and a short-sleeved button-down, his vacation attire.

They set out with him leading the way into town. She stopped a woman on the street and asked her to take a picture of them with Hermione’s phone. She nestled in under his arm and smiled. The woman returned the phone. He looked devastatingly handsome with his grey lock against his forehead. His dark eyes were warm behind his glasses, and his smile showed peaceful contentment. She, on the other hand, was a mess. She looked like an over-stuffed sausage, squeezed into that dress, and her face was jowly. She handed the phone to Severus.

“You are so beautiful, Darling,” he said.

“Ugh, you are so kind, Darling” she retorted.

“Enough,” he barked at her rather sharply. She looked at him in hurt confusion. “I don’t have time for that shite. I won’t listen to you run yourself down.” His shoulders slumped and he looked ashamed of his outburst. “You are so beautiful, Hermione,” he whispered it and then kissed her.

“Thank you, Darling. I’m sorry.”

He ignored the apology and took her hand. They resumed the walk.

He led her around a corner and then down a side street leading to an ornate Orthodox church.

“Do you know what Helen is doing right now?” he asked her.

“I think I do. Is she finishing her Potions O.W.L.?”

“I believe she is. I thought we might light a candle for her.”

Hermione laughed.

They entered the church. There were a few parishioners in there at the pews in prayer. The candles were at the side near the rear of the church. There was a little box, and Severus pulled out three local coins and dropped them in before taking a taper and lighting a candle. “Be brilliant, Helen,” he whispered.

Hermione took the taper, and hovered over the group of candles, trying to decide which one to light. Her arm was suspended mid-air and her mind was whirring as it had her whole life. _Helen is brilliant anyway. She doesn’t need this candle. If I were to light a candle…If I were to light a candle…If I were to pray to a god I don’t believe in, that I never have really believed in…_ she raised her head to the ceiling and offered a silent apology to the heavens for her agnosticism. _If I were to light this candle, it would not be for my brilliant daughter._

She had collapsed on the floor in wracking sobs. He was there beside her, cradling her. “It’s alright, Darling. It’s going to be fine, I promise.”

 

**August**

 

Helen’s O.W.L. results arrived four days before her sixteenth birthday. She received all Outstanding, save an Exceeds Expectations in History of Magic.

“Fucking Binns,” Hermione grumbled out of Helen’s earshot.

“He didn’t stop you from earning an O,” Severus reminded her.

“Yes, but I read the whole library, and I’m glad she didn’t.”

They decided to throw a party for the whole crew. The three of them had been working in the garden all summer. Severus had drawn up plans years ago to make it into an ideal space, but hadn’t really tackled until that year.

Hermione wondered silently if it was worth the effort. She didn’t picture herself spending much time out there in the future, and the thought of entertaining without him felt sour. But she would need Harry and Ron more than ever in the coming years, and it would be nice to have a lovely place.

They had paved the spots where grass didn’t grow because of heavy traffic. They had expanded the table so everyone could fit comfortably, and there was one corner that was perfect just for three. He had engineered a non-magical cover for bad weather, so she could have the neighbors over any time. They had built a small shrine near Crookshanks’s rosebush.

Severus had a small raised bed in the back garden for some essential potions ingredients, but he had always grown vegetables and more obscure plants in their allotment in the community garden. The three of them trudged out there every day as well. When he was having difficulty, each of his girls would stand on either side and walk him across the way. Helen had always helped in the allotment and was a pro. Hermione hadn’t had her hands in the soil since her Hogwarts days. It came back to her quickly.

The other major project that summer was teaching Hermione to cook. Severus had become an excellent home cook over the years, which they had all eventually taken for granted. Hermione had to learn how to feed herself. She became proficient enough.

They avoided maudlin pronouncements whenever possible. They were quickly arriving at four months, and he still had more decent days than terrible ones. Babs came to the house every day, often just to talk, but she replenished the potions he hated to brew himself, helped him perform tasks he didn’t want to ask Hermione for help with, and monitored him closely.

“He still has a few months,” she told Hermione in private at the end of July. “He is fighting.”

“He’s slowing down, though,” Hermione admitted to the only person she felt she could.

“Yes.”

August second was a very good day. Severus stationed himself in a little chair by the grill. Helen and Hermione had prepared the rest of the food without Hannah’s help. Everyone was there, and the garden looked beautiful strung with lights above the new table.

Lily Luna had attended university in history, and had earned an advanced degree specializing in the late-twentieth century. She was writing a book about the two wizarding wars of Britain, and she had come to the house several days a week all summer to interview Severus. She had pulled her chair next to his at the party and had made sure he had everything he needed so Hermione and Helen could tend to the other guests.

Every time Hermione would glance their way, she would see them talking out of the corner of their mouths to each other. Draco stopped by for a bit, making it known he had other engagements but could spare them an hour, and he pulled his chair to the little Slytherin corner as well.

Molly had made Helen a cake shaped like an eagle that she charmed to screech on the quarter hour. James and Hugo had taken over the D.J. table and were playing Severus’s music at the approval of its owner. Hermione kept strengthening the wards to protect the neighbors as the party sounds grew rather boisterous.

When she wasn’t tending to others, she settled in with Harry and Ron in the little corner. It wasn’t that she didn’t love all of them, but it was just so much having the same depressing conversations again and again. Harry and Ron asked about her.

“You really think you are finished with work?” Ron asked her incredulously.

“No.”

“So you think you will go back?” Harry asked.

“Of course I will go back. Do you think I aim to putter around the house by myself for the rest of my life? Why, is that what people think?”

“No, Hermione. I don’t think anyone could imagine that,” Ron said. “You’ve been…really impressive through this, ‘Mione.”

No one in their circle had ever experienced something like this. There had been so many deaths, but they had been sudden and violent. Wizards who died of old age tended to do so at one hundred and forty or something like that; they would go to bed peacefully and then not wake up. There were those who suffered for years like the Longbottoms, but they hadn’t died.

“Your mum, Harry, she went through exactly what Helen will this year,” Hermione said quietly.

“I wish she were here to help you.”

“I do, too.”

The party started to break up at ten. Molly cleaned everything using about three charms. Hermione made a mental note to spend time at the Burrow and learn some things from her. Daisy was staying over, and she and Helen retreated inside to put themselves in front of a screen. Hermione and Severus moved to the little bench near Crooks’s grotto. She expanded the bench a bit, so he could stretch out. She sat first and then he sat against her with his head on her chest and his legs stretched out.

“Were you able to eat at all? Every time I saw you, you were over the grill,” she asked him.

“I ate. Lily made me a plate.”

Hermione was massaging his head gently,

“That feels nice,” he said. He took a drink of watered down pumpkin juice and made a face. He was unable to drink alcohol because of the potions he took. It made him just as grumpy as the time Babs made him quit smoking.

“Promise me you will make sure she finishes school,” he said.

“I promise—even if I have to move to Hogsmeade and take her to class every day.”

“She needs to take her N.E.W.T.s and continue her studies. She’s gifted in potions.”

“I know she is. I won’t let her stagnate.”

 

When Helen was barely three, Severus had been ordered to attend a healing potions conference in Norway for four days. Hermione had panicked. She hadn’t been alone with Helen since she was a newborn.

“She won’t eat; she’ll be hungry!”

“That child has never gone three waking hours without eating in her life. She will eat,” Severus assured her. “This whole thing is ridiculous. You are the mum. You make the rules. She can follow them, or she can find herself in unpleasant circumstances. It’s not that difficult, Hermione.”

“She hates me,” Hermione whispered, so ashamed.

“She does not hate you. She thinks you’re quite fascinating. We talk of you often and your Important Job. Don’t put up with nonsense, and you will be fine.”

Helen had cried for two hours after he left. Hermione had taken all four days off work, and had no escape plan. She started plotting dropping Helen off at the Burrow as she heated their first lunch. Severus had premade everything and left the meals in marked containers in the fridge.

“Macaroni cheese, Helen,” she called. “Daddy made it.” She poured juice for her daughter and waited at the table. Helen continued her wailing in the sitting room. “Lunch is ready, Helen. Come to the table,” she said in her best imitation of Severus. She heard the sniffling come closer and closer until Helen staggered in the kitchen and sat down at her place. Hermione took a bite from her plate. “Oh, that’s so good,” she said, and then marveled as Helen took her own bite. She still whimpered occasionally, but she finished her serving and took a biscuit from her mother and a cup of half tea/half milk with two sugars that Severus had assured her would be just the thing.

After lunch, she had retrieved a box she had been saving since she was pregnant. She brought it down from her room with flourish and started taking out its contents on the sitting room rug. Helen had resumed her vigil on the sofa, but she couldn’t help glance at the growing pile.

“What are those books?” Helen finally asked.

“They are my favorites from my…from when I was a little girl like you.”

Helen scooted down from the sofa and planted herself of the edge of the rug. She just looked for a moment, and then her curiosity overtook her, and she picked one up. “These are not old.”

Hermione stifled a laugh. “No, I bought them when I was expecting you. When you were in my belly,” the thought of her expectations then matched with their current reality was enough to make her want to cry, but she refused to let herself.

“What happened to your books?” This was more than she had ever said to Hermione.

It was a story for a different day. “They…they were lost. I wanted you to have books that I loved, that I love.”

“These books are for me?” she asked with incredulity and perhaps just an edge of delight. Hermione nodded, and Helen let out a little squeal before she remembered her true loyalty. “Did Daddy have books when he was little?”

Another story for a different day. “He did have some books. They were different, though, from these. Daddy grew up knowing he was a wizard. I thought I was a Muggle. These are Muggle books.”

“You were a Muggle?” she had wide eyes. “Like Anna?”

“My Mummy and Daddy were Muggles. I was a witch, but I didn’t know it yet.”

“Did you do magic in public?” she asked with great interest.

“I did on accident a few times, but no one knew what it was yet.”

“Ooooooh.”

“Would you like to read that book with me?”

Helen had been holding _The Tale of Jemima Puddle-Duck_ close to her. She nodded.

“Come up on the sofa with me, near the lamp, and I will read it to you.”

“I can read some things,” she said proudly.

“You can? What a big, smart girl you are, Helen Elisabeth. You read some things and I’ll read some things.”

“Yes,” she said and had curled up next to Hermione.

 

Helen didn’t remember the times before that weekend, and when Hermione would tell her stories of the era before, when Helen would only relate to Severus, she had a hard time believing it. “It was just because Daddy was around all the time. I always loved you, Mum.”

Hermione knew better, but it made it no less lovely to hear.

Severus had grown rather heavy on her chest. “Are you awake, Darling?” she whispered.

“Yes, just thinking. It was a good birthday, I think. Sixteen.”

Hermione sighed with happiness.

 

**October**

Severus didn’t move far from the bed and bath any more. His last truly good day had been Helen’s birthday. The next day, he had been exhausted and had stayed in bed, but that was usual after a day of exertion. The day after that, he was still too weak to function the way he wanted to, in the lab or in the garden.

He hated taking the pain potions, but when he didn’t, he was in agony. Hermione stayed with him all day in the bath, the only place he felt slightly human. She sat by the ledge and rubbed his shoulders or feet gently or massaged his head. She read to him; they talked. By hour eight, she was afraid his skin would start to fall off his body. She finally convinced him to swallow what was in the phial.

“It makes my head fuzzy,” he growled. He hated not being in control of himself.

Babs had addressed it during her visit the next day: he had to do his part.

“They can’t stand to see you in pain, Severus. You have to take your potions.”

“I can’t talk with them or be with them as me, like I want to when I take them.”

“If you will establish a better routine, you will adjust to them,”

That his life was dependent on potions, of all things, that made him miserable, was not lost on him.

Hermione didn’t miss work and was happy to be able to spend all her time with him and with Helen. She didn’t even look at the formal robes or shoes in her part of the wardrobe. She wore comfortable tracky bottoms and oversized t-shirts and let her hair go wild. Ksenia tutted at her when she came to visit, but Hermione couldn’t be bothered to care.

The three Snapes had made the decision for Helen to stay home for this term. She traveled to school once a week via floo to attend classes and speak to her professors, but she did her work at home. Hermione thought Severus would put up a strop over this, but he folded quickly and loved having her home. They levitated him down to the lab as she brewed her potions for her Advanced class. She had her own book to mark, but she had the Prince’s as well, and Hermione acted as her assistant as Helen methodically proceeded through the steps.

“Learned more today than I did with five years of Merriweather,” she huffed the day they completed her first polyjuice. She bottled it and added it to the home store, scoffing about ever having an opportunity to use it. Hermione was grateful that Helen’s life was so different than her own at sixteen.

They brought the telly up to the bedroom and watched films and football matches and whatever else caught his eye and made him forget his situation for a few hours. Hermione improved her culinary skills every day and started taking pleasure in preparing meals for him that he enjoyed. A lot of the time, they would just lie in bed together talking about everything. His music played softly and continuously in the background.  Hermione would grab a book when he would fall asleep and be there when he woke. She let Babs handle as much of the nursing duties as could be scheduled, but those that couldn’t she took care of without a second thought although he hated it when she had to.

“You would do it for me and more. I don’t have a Babs in my life,” she reminded him.

“Of course I would do for you, That doesn’t make me want _you_ to have to do this.”

“Oh, Severus, stop it. It makes me feel useful.”

“I’ll make you feel useful, Witch.”

It was mostly an idle threat. They lay in each other’s arms, but it didn’t seem likely to go farther. He was foggy a lot of the time and fell asleep mid-conversation often.

There was one day, though, when Helen was attending classes. Autumn was just making its presence known. Hermione had pulled the curtains aside from the big window of their bedroom. There was a large oak tree they had planted after Helen’s birth that they called the Helen tree. Its leaves were changing and were every vibrant shade of orange and red.

They were talking about their first few years together when they lived apart for most of the week but would reunite in this house every weekend and sometimes never leave the room except for snacks and sometimes not wear clothes for two days. He had slept all morning and was more alert than he had been in the past few days. She was running her hands up and down his legs and torso and kissing him while their conversation grew quite bawdy.

And then there was some sign of life. She watched as his pajama bottoms started to tent.

“Severus!” she giggled.

“What do you expect, Darling, you keep shoving your tits in my face.”

“May I?” she asked.

“I should hope so!”

She took his bottoms down and started stroking him. She lowered her face and licked the head around down to the top of his foreskin. He lifted her t-shirt a bit, and she pulled it off. And then he pulled on her bottoms. She stood quickly and shucked them and then straddled him on the bed. She was very nervous that the erection would go away, and that this would turn into something embarrassing and sad for them, but she plowed ahead, lowering herself and then impaling herself on him. Home. She sighed with deep contentment and started to move.

He put his hands on her arse as she moved up and down. “Oh, Darling. Oh, Hermione,” he gasped. She took one of his hands and brought it around to touch her. She leaned over so he could take one of her tits in his mouth, and then she rode him until she felt herself coming apart around him.

“Oh, Severus, fuck!” she cried as she came, and then he came, too, and they collapsed over on their sides. She held his shoulders, and he clutched her face, and they kissed and then held each other with no space in between.

The sky was becoming quite dark when she awoke. He was still asleep, but she shook him awake.

“Helen will be home in minutes, and it reeks of sex in here,” she said, bolting from the bed. “We should get in the bath.” She helped him to his feet and then guided him into the bathroom. She had started filling the tub with a flick of her wand. She did a quick scorgify on the bed and then sunk in the tub with him.

“Merlin forbid our almost adult daughter realizes that her parents do actually have sex,” he grumbled and she splashed him with her foot.

“Hush, Severus. This is lovely.”

“You are lovely.”

She floated across the tub and kissed him on the forehead before she settled in under his arm.

 

**November**

“Hermione, wake up.”

She rolled over with a start. She hadn’t heard his voice in weeks, and it was clearer than it had been since summer. She wondered a moment if she were dreaming. And then she realized the voice was not coming from her husband lying next to her in bed, but from his portrait across the room.

“No,” she started to cry. He hadn’t been conscious since just before Halloween, but she wasn’t ready for this yet.

“Please, please be quiet, Darling. I don’t want to wake Helen. I don’t want her to see the body.”

“Severus,” she said through her tears, as quietly as she could.

“It’s all right, Darling. I feel so much better, you have no idea. And please turn that racket off.” They had discovered that Pink Floyd calmed him down, so they had been playing _The Wall_ on loop for two weeks. “I didn’t think it was possible for Pink Floyd to be ruined, but you’ve done it.”

She flicked her wand and silenced the music. She had brought her knees up to her chest and was hugging them, rocking, and trying not to fall into hysterics.

“Now, listen. I’m going to give you some instructions, and I need you to follow them precisely. Walk to my wardrobe.”

She finally looked up at the portrait that was addressing her. It was Severus from sixteen years ago. He thought he had looked so old in the picture, but compared to… She turned her head away.

“Darling, I need you to focus. You will have time for this later.”

She sighed and threw the portrait a look of utter exasperation.

“There’s my girl. Walk to the wardrobe.”

She snatched her wand and complied.

“Open it and look on the top shelf. Do you see a white sheet?”

“Yes.”

“Splendid, Babs actually followed instructions. Grab it and wrap the body in it.”

“You can NOT be serious.”

“No, thank Merlin. I’m Snape.” He had a good chuckle at this. She glared at the portrait.

“Listen, Darling, I know this is gruesome, but please just do it.”

If he were anyone else… She took the sheet to the bed where he was still warm. She checked to make sure he wasn’t breathing, but she didn’t have to. He had been wheezing painfully for a fortnight. It was quiet in the room. She lay the sheet flat on her side of the bed and then rolled him on it.

“Yes, exactly. Now wrap it tightly.”

She complied.

“Go to the kitchen and floo Potter and Weasley. They are waiting for you to contact them. They know what to do.”

“What if I go and you’re gone when I come back?”

“I won’t be, I think I’m stuck at the moment. This really is the oddest feeling. It’s me, but it isn’t all of me, I can tell, but I have no idea where the rest of me is or what I am doing. Darling, we will have time for these existential musings later, please go to the floo.”

She tip-toed down the stairs, still wondering if this were a dream, but not wanting to involve Helen in this horror show if it wasn’t. She reached the kitchen and threw some powder in and then said the incantation for Harry. The light flashed and flashed for about two minutes, and then he was stumbling into view.

“Right, I guess it’s time, then,” he said, still half asleep. “How are you, Hermione? Stupid question. Let me throw on some trousers and a robe, and I’ll be there. Have you flooed Ron yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Go ahead, then. I’ll be there presently.” He disappeared. She couldn’t hold back her tears as she repeated the process with Ron’s incantation. This time, though, he was by the floo.

“’Mione,” he said, and he was just so Ron, and she fell to the floor in sobs. He was dressed and came right through and took her in his arms. He didn’t say anything, just held her and let her cry on his chest.

Harry was there in moments, and the two men helped her to her feet.

“What does he want you to do? I didn’t know any of this. When did he talk to you?” she wailed as quietly as possible.

“About a month ago during a visit. You had gone with Helen to school,” Harry said. “He wants us to take the body away before Helen realizes he’s gone. He wants to be cremated.

“I know that part,” she sighed. “Come on, Helen’s asleep, so…”

They crept up the stairs and back to the room.

“Gentlemen,” the portrait greeted them.

“Sir,” Harry said quietly, and the portrait didn’t correct him. He did look very much a headmaster.

They secured the bindings and levitated the body towards the door and then down the stairs.

“Go with them, Darling, but stop at the floo, stay in the house in case Helen wakes.”

She followed them down as they walked with the body toward the kitchen, and then she froze.

“Hermione?” Ron said.

“She’s in shock,” Harry whispered. They left the body suspended and walked towards her.

“No. I’m not in shock. I just need to have a quick word with whatever that is in my bedroom.”

She whisked up the stairs, wand clutched in her fist, and shut the door quietly behind her clicking the lock.

“Why are you locking out your two best allies—three if you count Helen, which you should.”

She pointed her wand at the portrait, trying to remember a hex that might work. “What is our record on the puzzle?”

“1:23. That’s a terrible security question; it was literally printed in the _Prophet_.”

She put her hand to her forehead but held her wand steady. “What would Helen’s name be if she had been a boy?”

“Phillip Nigel for your father and that ridiculous Headmaster. At least fifty people knew that, too. Try again.”

She growled in frustration and wracked her brain. “How do we refer to sex acts that we are willing to perform or receive?”

“On the menu! There you go—that was a good one!”

“Oh, Severus.” She crumpled in front of him. “Why aren’t you sad?”

“Oh, Darling, I am. I’m profoundly sad, you have no idea. But I’ve been in pain for six months, and this result was inevitable. At some point, I suppose I made my peace with it. Please, Hermione, please let the boys take the body out.”

“Helen will never forgive me if I don’t let her say goodbye.”

“To a corpse? What good will it do? She can talk to me.”

“It won’t be the same. She will want to hold your hand and kiss you on the nose one last time.”

“She did both of those a few hours ago. Hermione, would you want her last memory of you to be a corpse in a bed or wrapped in a sheet? Would you?”

She thought about it for a moment. “No,” she said quietly.

“Then please, do this for me, I will take full responsibility.”

“Alright, you win. I’m going to go tell Harry and Ron to go ahead.”

“Thank you, Darling. Come right back up.”

She sighed and went back down to the kitchen. “It’s okay,” she said. “Just give me a moment.” She took the sheet away from his face. Anabel had come to the house in late summer to cut his hair very short because it bothered him to have it flop down on his forehead. He looked so old now, much older than he had when they were in Greece. He was still her beloved. She kissed his forehead and let her tears fall on his face before she covered it again. “Goodbye, Darling,” she whispered, and then she watched her best friends disappear with him through the hearth.

**December**

Late Saturday night, close to Christmas, Hermione entered her bedroom and flipped on the light.

“Oh, you look beautiful, Darling.”

“Severus! You’re back!”

“Yes, I was stuck at Hogwarts for…I have no idea how long. When was the last time you saw me?”

The portrait had very little concept of time, and he was still navigating this new existence.

“Four days ago.”

“You’re all dressed up. Where have you been?”

“Wedding at the Burrow. Hugo’s.”

“Did I know about this?”

“No; it’s all been very whirlwind.”

“Whom did he marry?”

“Javier, from America. He’s lovely; works at the university with Hugo.”

She collapsed on the bed and started removing her shoes and then rubbing her feet.

“You danced?”

“I did. Harry, Ron, Arthur, George, Charlie.”

“How is everyone?”

“Oh, alright. Sad; missing you. Fleur cried all over my robe.”

“I love Fleur.”

“I know you do. She explained the entire life cycle of the butterfly to help me understand the meaning of your life.”

“How lovely for you. I’m sorry, Darling. I wish I could have been there.”

“You do not.”

“I do not, but I would have gone with you.”

“I know.” She was hanging her robes in the wardrobe, removing her tights and then pulling on flannel pajamas she had been fantasizing about all night. She padded to the bathroom in her bare feet to wash her face and teeth and brush out her hair. She kept the door open a crack so she could keep an eye on the portrait.

“Helen comes home tomorrow,” she called before she started rinsing her face.

“I saw Helen this morning. Her exams went well.”

“That’s great. I sent an owl with some snacks. She’s not staying for the Yule Ball.” The last part was garbled because of her mouth full of toothbrush.

“What did you say?”

She rinsed her mouth, took down her curls, and used the loo quickly.

“Hermione, what did you say?”

“Just a second, Darling,” She washed her hands and then turned out the bathroom light.

“She’s coming home before the Yule Ball.”

“Oh, why?”

“She says it’s a ridiculous waste of time. I assume the boy she wanted to ask her didn’t.”

“I think you’re probably right. What’s wrong with him?” Severus sounded fully incensed.

“I don’t even know who he is.” She was rubbing some moisturizing lotion into her elbows and then legs. “Seventh year Gryffindor if I had to guess. Raymond something, he is apparently fascinating based on the number of times she casually mentions him.”

“Clearly not worth her time,” he said in disgust.

“Clearly. I hate it for her, though, Severus. Why can’t the boy she likes like her back? Why does it always have to be so awful?”

“I am the wrong one to ask. It will be better for her after she leaves Hogwarts. It’s so incestuous there.”

“Yes, well, at least she’ll be home tomorrow.”

“What are the Christmas plans?”

“Same as every year.”

“Who’s bringing the buns?” Severus had been making cinnamon buns for Christmas morning the last few years, and they had been an unqualified success.

“Not me, I played the widow card. I am bringing nothing but Helen. I might raid your liquor cabinet for Christmas Eve at Grimmauld. You know how Harry loves your Muggle whiskey,” she teased him.

“I’ll give you some suggestions, you can buy him his own bottle. Boxing Day here?”

“Of course. Do you want to be brought down?”

“Oh, please don’t. I’ll have a private audience up here with a select few.”

“Fleur?”

“I am very interested in the butterflies. And Lily, naturally.”

“Oh, Severus! That reminds me, she brought me the galleys of her book—I left it on the kitchen table. I’ll fetch it if you promise not to move.”

“I promise.”

She left the room and before she made it to the stairs, she turned right around to check. She peered around the corner.

“Still here, Darling.”

“Firmly affix. I am not playing this game with you, Severus.”

“It’s not that I try to leave,” she heard him say as she was flying down the stairs.

“I know,” she called back. She snatched the binder from the table and headed back up. He was still in his frame, and she sighed in relief as she sat on the bed. “I will warn you that she narrowed her focus quite dramatically.”

“Yes?”

Hermione grabbed her reading glasses and perched them on her nose. She cleared her throat dramatically. “ _The Wizard Who Came in from the Cold_ ,” she read to him, trying to suppress her giggles.

“She didn’t!” He was horrified. It thrilled her.

“She did.”

He made an agonized sound. “It’s not…”

“It is. _The Wizard Who Came in from the Cold. A Spy Story_ —that’s the subtitle—by Lily Luna Potter.”

“Have you read the La Carre?”

“Yes, but I’m fairly certain she hasn’t.”

“Oh, this is bad.”

“It’s not. It’s so lovely, Severus. I have read a few chapters, and she did a marvelous job. She sticks to the facts, it’s clear and concise, and she maintains your dignity throughout while subtly revealing you as the hero of both wars. It could not be more Slytherin.”

“Oh, Merlin.”

“There is a beautiful forward written by Harry that you will loathe.”

“Don’t read it to me.”

“I won’t,” she yawned.

“Curl up in bed, Darling. Read me the first chapter until you fall asleep.”

“I don’t think I will last very long.” She yawned again. Hermione had returned to work the week before, and she had forgotten how punishing that schedule was. She settled herself under the duvet and propped her elbow and head on a stack of pillows. “Here’s the dedication. ‘To Uncle Snape, the bravest man I ever knew.’ Ooooooh, Severus.”

“Don’t cry, Darling.”

“I’m not. Chapter One. Cokeworth, 1959…”

She read half the chapter before she fell asleep, and the binder fell on the floor. The man in portrait removed his glasses, wrapped his arms around his front, and breathed in deeply and then out again. In and out. His cadence matched that of the woman on the bed, and soon he was asleep.


End file.
